


Leaving California

by allouette



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Angst, Infidelity, M/M, with a small side of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allouette/pseuds/allouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake says goodbye to Los Angeles and hello to life on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving California

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a WIP for about 500 years but hey, finally finished!
> 
> Thanks to Sandra for the beta, for Bubbles and Lisa for the cheerleading.

Nothing lasts forever. The words swirl around in the hot mess that is Blake’s head as he lay on his couch, on the verge of blackout drunk and still pushing for more. It’s the worst kind of cliché, and although country music is plagued with them, Blake tries his best not to apply _too_ many of _that kind_ to his own personal life if he can help it. 

Well. Apart from the pick-up trucks and alcohol he’s so fond of, anyway.

But those words won’t leave him alone - _nothing lasts forever_ \- an annoying little buzz in his brain that manages to break through the drunken haze, an itch he can’t scratch, and he knows, as the bottle slowly slips through his fingers to hit the floor, that the decision has been made for him. 

He’s done.

 

*** 

 

_“Hey, you’re early,” Carson says, checking his watch. “A whole hour and a half early. Eager to get started?”_

_“Hell no,” Blake replies simply before he disappears into his trailer, Adam waiting for him inside._

_“Stealth, Blake. We were going for stealth,” is what Adam says as Blake locks the door. “Like a ninja.”_

_Blake just shoots him a look. “What the hell do I look like to you?”_

_Adam can’t help but grin as he closes the distance between them, his answer coming in the form of a kiss. He gets his arms wrapped up around Blake’s neck, Blake’s hands on his hips, steering him back toward the couch._

_Blake is the one that ends up flat on his back, Adam stretched out above him, and it’s nice – it’s always nice like this, making out like teenagers like they have all the time in the world and nothing better to do. It doesn’t matter that they’re at work right now, that they have to go be presentable for the camera in an hour or so. They know when to slow things down, when to stop, but that’s not for a while yet, so for now the kisses grow and linger, hands wander restless and eager._

_“Thank god we both have beards right now is all I’m saying,” Adam murmurs when they break for air, and he lightly drags his cheek against Blake’s, feels the rumble of Blake’s laugh through his chest._

_“When’re you gettin’ rid of that ridiculous thing?”_

_“Mm, not for a while yet, I’m afraid. It only gets worse from here. Will you still love me when I look like Duck Dynasty?”_

_“Depends. Will that mean you’ll finally go huntin’ with me for real?”_

_Adam laughs. “You wish,” he says, leaning in to press another kiss to Blake’s mouth when there’s a knock on the door._

_“’S probably just Carson,” Blake says against Adam’s lips, with no intention of pulling away until he hears his name called through the door._

_And Miranda’s voice._

_Their gazes are locked, sharing a look of panic and terror, both frozen for a few seconds before they’re flailing, and it’s uncoordinated enough that Adam gets bucked off onto the floor of the trailer, sprawled out on his back. He’s a little dazed, his heart about to explode in his chest as Blake stands above him and drags his hands through his hair, straightens out his shirt and wipes at his mouth._

_Like that’s really going to help._

_After a couple of calming breaths, Blake opens the door and then he’s got his arms full of a completely different person, a sick feeling in his stomach. He can barely hear her saying, “surprise!” over the roaring in his ears, not quite over the shock of what has just happened._

_It’s one thing to know you’re cheating, to have that knowledge tucked away in the back of your head. It’s something else entirely to be faced with it so blatantly like this. Especially when they have always been so careful for such a long time._

_With a shake of his head, Blake snaps back into focus in time to hear Miranda laugh. “What’s goin’ on here?” she’s asking and pointing at Adam, still lying on the floor._

_“I was just…” Adam waves his hand, but then he’s shifting, popping up to his feet like some kind of jackrabbit, dusting himself off. “But now I’m going to get out of here. Leave you two be. I’ll see you later, buddy.”_

_She’s ignorant of the strain in his voice, but it’s all Blake can hear. “I’ll be out there soon,” Blake replies but the door is closing without any acknowledgement that Adam heard him at all._

 

*** 

 

It’s a lot harder than he actually thought it would be. The words get stuck in his throat, and the nausea churning in his stomach isn’t solely to blame on his hangover. Blake owes so much to the show, to Mark for even wanting him in the first place, for keeping him around for this long. To stand in front of him and say he’s finished is gut-wrenching at best, but then all he gets is understanding in return, and that somehow makes it worse.

“The chair was yours first, Blake. It will always be yours if you ever want to come back.”

Logically, Blake knows he should have expected nothing less from Mark, but walking away, part of him feels like it would have been so much easier if he could have been a little bit angry at Blake’s decision. That’s not the kind of guy Mark is, though, and although Blake knows he won't be coming back, he can see Mark waiting to welcome him again with open arms.

Breaking the news to the rest of the crew is just as hard, and he can barely even look in Adam’s direction. Judging from the expression on Adam’s face when he does glance over and the way Adam won’t even look back at him, Blake can tell he isn’t happy. There’s sadness from everyone, of course, but still even more understanding; coaches have been rotating in and out for quite a few seasons now, so they all know what it’s like to feel that need to get away. 

It’s not quite the same this time, but Blake doesn’t feel the need to elaborate on the fact that his choice is either to stay and drink himself to death or leave and pull himself back together again. Besides, they still have the current season to finish out and now an even more bitchin’ finale slash goodbye party to plan. It’s only fitting that they send Blake out with a bang.

 

*** 

 

_“We almost got caught, Blake! Fuck. Do you even realize how bad that would have been?”_

_“I’m not an idiot, Adam. But you really want to just stop? Like what, the past year and a half has meant absolutely nothing?”_

_“Are you ready to tell her?” When Blake doesn’t answer right away, Adam presses on. “That’s what I thought.”_

_“Can you even answer that question? You ready to tell your girlfriend the truth about what you really want?”_

_When Adam’s relationship status goes from boyfriend to fiancé seemingly out of the blue, Blake gets the only answer he needs._

 

*** 

 

As his house slowly starts to empty, it’s a little strange to realize how little personal belongings he actually has. Miranda’s things are long gone, have been for a few months now, and once the studio is dismantled, it feels like there isn't much left at all. Blake is letting someone else deal with the furniture because he couldn't give less of a fuck about things like that, and once he packs his clothes, a few boxes of other random things from around the house, that's it. That’s all there is. It seems too easy, but as Blake wanders through the house, he realizes it just reinforces exactly out how of place he really is in California. 

 

*** 

 

_“I guess congratulations are in order?”_

_“Why are you saying it like that?”_

_“Like what?”_

_“With a fucking dickish attitude?”_

_“I don’t have an attitude. I just… What the hell, Adam? Why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t even mention it.”_

_“I didn’t know I had to ask your permission.”_

_“You didn’t! Good lord, it just doesn’t make a bit of sense to me. I’m more than a little confused here.”_

_“There’s nothing to be confused about, Blake.”_

_“And you’re sure about this? About gettin’ married? After everything.”_

_“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“I’m just wondering if you’re doin’ this for the right reasons. If you’re gettin’ married because you really want to or because you’re runnin’ scared from something else.”_

_“Oh, fuck you, Blake. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m doing it because I want to, that’s all you need to know.”_

 

***

 

Keeping his promise to stop by the Daly house before he heads out of town, Blake thinks he will probably miss Carson most of all. Their bond is like nothing he ever expected to find, Carson stepping into the role of both friend and big brother at the same time, filling in that void Blake has been left with since he was a kid. He has had many other friends, fellow artists, that have felt like brothers, sure, but there has been something different about Carson from the very beginning. 

Sort of like Adam.

Carson is at the door before Blake can even knock, and Blake hates how down he looks. He gets exhausted and stressed just like the rest of them, but Carson is always the one to let it all slide with a smile on his face. No one else does it like him, and to see him now like someone just ran over his dog, Blake kind of wants to punch himself knowing it’s his own fault.

“I guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I knew that you’d ever come back,” Carson says. “But I know that once you get back to Oklahoma, you won’t miss this place one bit. I just feel like I’m never going to see you again.”

Yeah, Blake really wants to punch himself in the head. “I’ll be back out this way eventually, whenever I get my ass back into the studio and put out somethin’ decent. Always gotta do promotion. You can always come visit my neck of the woods, you know. One of those times you’re bein’ jerked back and forth between LA and New York, you can make a detour down to Oklahoma.”

Carson laughs a little, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’s one hell of a detour, but I’ll definitely try to swing it.” There’s a pause then, his smile fading because of what’s coming next. “You know I have to ask this, so don’t kill me. You’re going to go see Adam, right?”

 

*** 

 

_“I told Miranda.”_

_“What? Have you lost your mind?”_

_“I had to. I couldn’t stand it, not anymore.”_

_“We’re not-- You were in the clear, Blake.”_

_“You think that really fuckin’ matters? I’ve been sick over this, Adam. I’m literally sick to death here - with her, without you,” Blake says, brutally honest in a way that Adam isn’t expecting._

_Adam’s voice is soft when he speaks, but the pain is still there, impossible to hide. “Blake... I don't know what you want me to say.”_

_Even though yes, he does._

_“Adam, please.”_

_Blake stands close, too close, invades Adam’s personal space like he still belongs there. When Blake kisses him, he’s careful about it, Adam’s face baby soft and clean-shaven, and he’s kissing Blake back before he has a chance to resist. As if he really could resist. It deepens for the briefest of moments before Adam breaks it and pulls away, puts a little bit of space between them with his hand against Blake’s chest._

_“No, Blake. I can’t,” are the words that Blake hears but he doesn’t miss the way Adam won’t look him in the face when he says it._

 

*** 

 

Blake has lost count of how many times he’s been to this house, but coming here now feels so foreign to him. He has to pause for a moment before he punches in the code at the gate, knowing it's the last time and wondering how long it'll be before he forgets those numbers. Not long, if he can help it.

He feels stupid as he stands at the front door, huge and awkward and out of place. That feeling doesn’t really go away when the door finally opens and Adam is staring back at him; all he can do is silently curse Carson for talking him into this. 

Like he wouldn’t have ended up here anyway.

“I thought you were gone,” Adam says, leaning a shoulder against the door frame.

“About to hit the road,” Blake replies, trying to make it clear with words and body language that he isn’t here to stay.

“I’m a little surprised you stopped by.”

“I almost didn’t,” he admits, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Carson convinced me I should. Plus I know somewhere down the road I’d start to regret it and end up turnin’ my ass around, so I figured there’s no point in wastin’ the miles.”

Adam snorts softly, shaking his head a little. “You’re insane for driving the whole way back by yourself, I hope you know that.”

Blake just shrugs a shoulder. “It’s about a twenty one, twenty two hour drive, give or take. Can’t really predict the traffic, but the weather shouldn’t be too bad from what I’ve seen. Kinda lookin’ forward to it, actually.”

“Just… be careful, okay? Don’t stop anywhere weird or do anything crazy, please. I don’t want to hear that your truck was found on the side of the road somewhere and you’re never seen or heard from again.”

It’s enough to make Blake start to smile, but the pang in his chest stops it from spreading too far. He’s going to fucking miss Adam, and standing here in front of him like this hurts more than words could possibly say, especially with the knowledge that there is a very good chance they may never see each other again. This right here is all that’s left, all they’re going to get. The end. _But that’s the whole goddamn point_ , Blake has to remind himself. 

He clears his throat and drags a hand through his hair, taking a step back before he starts to lose what little bit of control he has left. “Listen, I don’t wanna drag this out or anything, and I want to go as far as I possibly can without stoppin’ so I better get going.”

Adam nods and takes that one step forward because he can’t possibly make anything easy, and Blake can tell he doesn’t want to say goodbye. “Look, this is—I mean. I’ll see you at the wedding, right?”

It takes a lot of restraint for Blake to not laugh in his face because it’s probably one of the dumbest questions he has ever heard, and the fact that Adam actually has the balls to ask him that is completely ridiculous. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. I don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to be there.”

“Why not?” Adam asks and he’s stepping even closer, like the thought of Blake not wanting to be there never even occurred to him and he’s visibly shaken by this revelation. “Come on, you’re one of my best friends. You know I want you to be there.”

“Because I still don’t think you’re gettin’ married for the right reasons, and I know we both know why that is,” Blake replies, and Adam shrinks back a little at the look Blake gives him. “I really don’t need to spell it out for you, Adam. And I didn’t come here to do this, so I’m going to head on out. I hope you—” Blake pauses, lets out a sigh. “I hope you’re happy, and I wish you the best, man. I really do.”

Adam lets him get all the way to the door of his truck before he’s right there, stopping Blake from getting in. The look they share is nothing new; it’s one they’ve shared a thousand times both on and off camera, feelings there they were never able to hide whether they really tried or not. Only this time the pain is burning bright right there in front, and it’s so easy to see how broken down Blake really is. He swallows hard when Adam’s hand lands on his arm to stop him from climbing into his truck, and he just wants this to be over with already.

“What?” he croaks, and Adam pulls him into a hug.

“I’m going to miss you, you enormous son of a bitch.”

Blake’s eyes fall closed and he forgets how to breathe for a long moment, Adam’s face tucked into his neck, their bodies pressed together. He gives in to the temptation to nuzzle the side of Adam’s head just a little bit, finally breathes in his scent. Blake soaks it all in, every last detail this one last time because as soon as he gets on the road, he’s going to start letting it all go. The longer they linger there, the harder it gets to pull away, but Blake finally does because he has to, pulling himself back and pushing Adam away at the same time. 

“Take it easy,” he says like he’s talking to anyone else, climbing into his truck and closing the door. He refuses to look back, to see if Adam is still standing there watching as he pulls down the long driveway, gunning it as soon as he’s on the street. 

It would be easy to cry, the sting is even there, but he’s past the point of tears by now. 

 

***

 

A little over twenty-four hours and fourteen hundred miles later, Blake is home. He’s completely exhausted having only stopped once for a very short time, the drive long and grueling but cathartic, and he’s more than happy to get the hell out of his truck and stretch his legs. 

He is quick to find out, just after the door to his truck slams closed, that he isn’t alone on the ranch, a yellow lab bolting out through the doggie door and greeting him enthusiastically. 

“Cash?” he says, giving the dog a good scratch behind the ears. “Who put on your collar?” Because the doggie door only works if the dogs are wearing their collars with the little chip in them, and Blake’s kind of confused. It’s not like he’s really going to get an answer from the dog, anyway.

What he isn’t expecting to find is Betty trailing out of the house after Cash, just as excited to welcome him back home, her black and brown face smiling as she pants in the sunshine. He had no idea Miranda was leaving her behind, although she did always say that Betty was more like his dog anyway. But she loved all of the dogs equally with all of her heart, so it’s a surprise to find any of them left at the ranch, even Cash. 

He stands there for a few long moments, thinking, wondering, both dogs planted at his feet like this is what they have been waiting for, master and companion reunited again. 

There’s an ache in his chest and a lump in his throat that’s almost impossible to swallow past because as much as Blake was looking forward to coming here and being alone, he’s almost relieved, now. 

He has people that take care of the place when he’s gone, so the dogs are well fed, and once he gets inside, he finds the kitchen is in decent shape. He won’t have to make a trip into town for a few days, at least, so he’s happy with that. The rest of the house is spotless, a lot emptier than he’s used to seeing it. A lot less pink. With a shake of his head, he figures that’s an issue to tackle later on; he’s got plenty of time ahead of him to think about all of that.

He doesn’t bother with all of the shit in the back of his truck, just grabs his duffle and leaves the rest for later. The shower is calling his name, his back breaking, his legs nothing but a dull ache. Once he’s out and dressed again, he fixes himself a tall drink, carries it along with the bottle back into the bedroom with him, the dogs hot on his heels. This is going to be it for a while, he tells himself. Might as well get as wasted as he can now before he gives it all up, before the rest goes down the drain. 

It’s going to hurt like hell regardless, no matter what.

 

*** 

 

It’s easy to lose track of time when he’s outside, and Blake has always enjoyed getting his hands dirty. Needless to say, with little else to do, he spends a majority of his time taking care of different things on the property that have been neglected while he’s been away. Days are lost working out in the blazing sun until he has no energy left to do anything but eat, shower and sleep. It becomes routine and he feels like he needs it to be that way or else he’ll lose himself to something else, something that hurts far worse, something less favorable.

The ranch has never looked better, and he’s proud of the work he’s getting done. His vegetable garden has been expanded, his corn crop that he was ready to give up on is starting to flourish and he thinks there might be a chance he’ll end up with something good after all. There isn’t a single weed in his entire yard from the house to the tree line, and the grass is pristine. Everything gets fed and watered daily because rain in Oklahoma isn’t something that can be counted on, also cut back and trimmed as necessarily.

He’s borderline obsessive, but it feels good. It’s something to focus on so he keeps going, does a little bit more every day.

Flowers aren’t really his thing, but he looks into growing an herb garden along with his vegetables, gets the ground ready for it before he even has any idea what he’s doing. He thinks what the hell, why not, it’s something else to do. The next logical step seems to be contemplating building a greenhouse, but he knows he’s going to end up going back to work at some point in time down the road, eventually, and won’t be here to take care of something that involved. Then he figures he could always hire someone to do it just like everything else and sits down to do some research.

 

***

 

His guitars sit in the music room, collecting dust along with everything else behind that closed door. He hasn’t felt very musical, since.

 

*** 

 

Face down on the bed, shoulders blistered and body sore, Blake starts to wonder if he might be trying to kill himself a little. He’s past the point of exhaustion, doesn’t think he could move a muscle if he had to any time soon. The fan he has pointed at him, blowing air directly onto his feverish, overheated skin gives little relief. There’s a stray thought of an ice bath but it would require moving, and the cold shower he took earlier only made him curse and cry.

Not that he would admit to the tears. Not that there’s anyone to admit to the tears to. 

He hears a whine to his right, and it even hurts to turn his head enough to look. Betty’s got her muzzle propped on the edge of the bed, her big ol’ chocolate brown eyes staring back at him like she’s hurting for him, too. 

“What? Don’t look at me like that.”

She whines again, sad and pitiful, and presses closer to the edge of the bed. Blake knows she’s sitting on a loaded spring, and as soon as he says the word she’s going to be up in a flash. They look at each other for a few long moments until Blake can’t take it anymore, gives up and gives in because she’s adorable and he wants to pass out.

“Alright, fine. C’mon—” he’s barely said the words before she’s up on the bed, right there next to him and he flinches on instinct but she’s careful, stretching out next to him but not touching him, like she just knows. “Good girl. Where’s your brother?”

Betty just snorts and lays her head down, closes her eyes. Blake would laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe.

 

*** 

 

His momma stops by every so often, cooks dinner for the two of them and makes sure he has plenty of leftovers. Blake loves her to death, appreciates the company, and almost feels guilty because he has to tell her every time that she can’t help any more than this.

“Is there anything else I can do?” she always asks.

“No, ma’am. I’m fine,” he says. 

“I just wish—”

“I’m fine, mom. I’m okay. This… They’re my demons to battle. I gotta do this myself. Well, me and Dumb and Dumber over there,” he says, hooking a thumb in the direction of the dogs. Betty looks at him like she’s vaguely insulted. Cash wags his tail and sticks out his tongue like all is right in the world. 

To be a dog, Blake thinks.

 

***

 

Storm clouds roll in thick and intense, out of nowhere and faster than Blake would like when he’s out at the far end of his property. He has to curse the sky and the weatherman for his measly twenty percent chance of rain because it would just figure this would happen after he’s already watered everything, naturally. He almost has his four-wheeler back to the shed when the bottom falls out, big fat raindrops pouring down, and he’s soaked completely through by the time he makes the run from the shed to the house.

After a quick change into a dry pair of jeans and a t-shirt, he heads back out onto the porch with a glass of iced tea. He hasn’t seen rain like this in a while, is sure he wouldn’t be able to see a foot in front of his face if he was out there in it. Lightning strikes off in the distance, a slow rumble of thunder following shortly after, and both of the dogs scramble to take cover back inside.

“Cowards!” Blake calls after them.

The next crack of thunder is substantially closer, enough that it makes Blake jump just a little, glad that there’s no one around to witness it. He’s about to follow the dogs inside when he sees a flash of light cut through the sheets of rain, has to stare for a minute because there are headlights heading toward the house and what the hell?

He’s frozen in his spot on the porch, swears he must be dreaming as he watches the car come to a stop in front of the house because when the door opens, he can’t really be seeing Adam climb out. He’s dreaming or hallucinating, the sun finally gotten to him, fried his brain. Adam is running up to the porch a second later to get out of the rain, and all Blake can really do is blink at him stupidly because he still doesn’t know what’s happening, exactly.

“Hi,” Adam says, eventually, after a long and awkward moment of silent staring.

“What—What’re you doin’ here?”

“I came to see you.”

Blake blinks at him again. “Aren’t you supposed to be gettin’ married right about now?” he asks because even though he has tried not to think about it, even though he has tried his damnedest to put the whole thing out of his head and out of his heart, it’s impossible to forget.

Adam ducks his head, beads of water running down his face. “Uh, yeah. It took a little bit of time, but someone was finally able to convince me that I was doing it for the wrong reasons. And I just… I couldn’t do it.”

 

*** 

 

_“I can’t believe you.”_

_Blake looks up from his phone, asks his question with the raise of his eyebrows._

_“You’re just gonna leave? Just like that?”_

_“It’s time.”_

_“What the fuck does that even mean, it’s time? Why is it time? We were supposed to walk away from this thing together. Remember when we said that? When we made that agreement? Fuck, Blake. I don’t—I don’t want to do this without you.”_

_Blake drops his phone onto the couch next to him, drags a hand over his face. “Then don’t? Contracts are still being negotiated for next season, aren’t they? Either way, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”_

_Adam looks like he’s been slapped in the face, and Blake is quick to look away, pushing himself up to stand._

_“Why are you doing this? Really?”_

_“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Blake asks, grabbing his jacket because they have to get back to work. “Think about it hard enough and you should be able to figure it out.”_

_Adam is silent as Blake pushes past him to leave his trailer, a statue where he stands. Blake stops for a moment just as he opens the door, swallows hard. “There’s a lot of things I don’t want to do without you either, Adam.”_

 

*** 

 

There’s a vicious strike of lightning that comes down too close for Blake’s comfort, lighting up the entire sky for a split second before a loud clap of thunder follows, rattling the windows and sending them both retreating from the porch. 

Adam shivers inside the air-conditioned house, soaked to the bone and dripping on the hard wood floor. Blake curses to himself before he leaves Adam standing there at the door to get him a towel. By the time he gets back, Adam is being investigated by the dogs, looking mildly surprised that it’s a thing that could possibly happen in the first place. That and Cash has always had an extremely eager nose.

“That’s Betty,” Blake says, handing over the towel. “And the one tryin’ to get up close and personal is Cash.”

“You have dogs now?” Adam asks as he wraps the towel around his shoulders.

Blake just shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck as he watches Adam toe out of his shoes. “Long story, I guess. You uh… you plannin’ on hangin’ around?”

Adam’s face falls, and it’s hard to miss the way he physically deflates right there where he stands. “Jesus, Blake, I came all this way—Are you kicking me out?”

“I just don’t know what you’re doin’ here, Adam. Honestly.”

“I thought that would be kind of obvious, I mean, why else would I come here?” Adam drags the towel up over his hair, another shiver running through him, his teeth chattering for a second or two. “I didn’t really have any kind of plan or objective or anything other than just… I don’t know, _you_ , Blake.”

With a sigh, Blake drags his hand through his hair, getting longer and curling a little bit more every day. “And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened?”

“No. You don’t have to forget anything,” Adam says, finally letting the towel drop to his feet. He looks defeated, sounds that way, too, as he continues. “But you’re acting like… Do you really hate me so much now that you can’t stand to be around me anymore? Because if that’s the case, please tell me and I’ll turn around and go.”

“I don’t hate you, Adam. It’s not that. I never could. It’s just that…” Blake has to pause for a moment, think about the right way to say this. He can’t think of any other way other than to just say it, spell it out for Adam in black and white. “I’ve been workin’ on gettin’ over you once now already. I don’t think I could survive havin’ to start all over again.”

 

*** 

 

They agree, after a few tense minutes, that it wouldn’t be safe to send Adam back out in that storm, and he probably wouldn’t be able to catch a flight back to LA any time soon, anyway. They also agree that they can be civil to each other for the rest of the evening since they’re stuck together now, and after retrieving his bag from the car (Blake is nice enough to lend him an umbrella, at least), Adam is able to get dry and warm.

Blake tries to relax, tries to tell himself that it’s just Adam, that they’ve hung out a million times before, this should be nothing to worry about. But the fact that it’s _just Adam_ is the whole problem, and Blake feels like his whole world has been flipped upside down just as he was starting to feel human again.

This is going to be the longest night of his life, he can already tell, hyperaware of every move Adam makes even though he doesn’t want to be. He doesn’t want to know every tiny shift of Adam’s body, he doesn’t want to care, but it’s _Adam_. There’s just something about him that draws Blake in like a beacon, impossible to fight and impossible to ignore.

This is how he got into this whole goddamn mess in the first place. This is why he’s here, by himself. Fuck.

“How the fuck is your liquor cabinet empty?” Adam asks, staring at the empty shelves in disbelief.

“Ah, haven’t really been drinkin’ these days,” Blake says, suddenly wishing for the first time in a while that that wasn’t the case. He could sure use a drink right about now.

“Seriously? _You_?” 

“Hard to believe, I know.”

“Wow. That must’ve been some break up. How’d the booze take it?”

Adam is smiling, and Blake knows what he’s doing, trying to banter, to start an easy back and forth that they’re so good at, and it’s impossible to not respond to that, the corner of Blake’s mouth curling up in a small half smile. “Not as hard as me, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, I bet.”

“What are you doin’ here, Adam?”

Blake asks the question again before he even realizes the words are out of his mouth, and it catches the both of them off guard. There’s a lingering silence that hangs between them for a few long moments before Adam is dropping his gaze, the brief moment of reprieve dissolving in an instant. 

“I did a pretty shitty thing at a really shitty time. And it’s all your fault because you were right. All along, you were right. We were uh. We were supposed to be rehearsing for the wedding, and I got there and I just… I fucking froze. I was paralyzed because I knew. Everything was wrong.” He stops there to laugh, a soft, sad little sound that hurts Blake’s heart to hear. “I bailed on the wedding right then and there. I bailed on her. I thought about you… Fuck, all the time. And here I am.”

Blake has no idea what to even think about that, let alone what to say. He doesn’t want to say _I told you so_ , doesn’t want to be that kind of person right now, even if a small part of him feels like Adam might deserve it. All he can really do is nod his head just a little because christ, it really is too much. 

But then again, that’s Adam.

“I’m gonna call it a night,” is the only thing he ends up saying. Now he’s the one that’s running away, making a hasty retreat toward the stairs. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 

*** 

 

Sleep is impossible. There’s no way, not with Adam in the other room. Blake can’t stop thinking, his mind racing and his heart torn.

He thinks about how easy it would be to lose himself in Adam again. All it would take is the right look, one touch. One single touch and Blake would come undone, knowing one would lead to two, into something searing and endless. And as much as he’s fighting it right now, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, god he _wants_ it.

He’s angry when he finally gets up out of bed – angry with himself over things he can’t control, for not being able to sleep, angry at Adam for having the balls to just show up out of the blue like he can do whatever the fuck he wants, like his actions don’t affect other people, like he didn’t fucking break Blake’s heart once already. 

Like he should get some kind of free pass just because he said Blake was right all along. Well, no fucking shit.

The house is dark and silent when Blake leaves his room, the storm outside long gone, leaving behind warm, muggy air and an overly soggy ground in its wake. He sits out on the porch, the old wooden rocking chair creaking under his weight, Betty and Cash curling up by his feet. Once again he finds himself longing for a drink, something cold and strong, and it’s another thing he adds to the list of things currently pissing him off.

It comes as no big surprise when twenty, thirty minutes later, the front door opens and Adam comes stepping outside. Blake wants to be mad at that, too, like his safe haven has been invaded and now he can’t have a moments peace any longer.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asks instead.

“Not really, no. And I heard you moving around, so I thought… unless you want to be alone?”

Blake shrugs a shoulder. “It’s fine,” he says despite himself, following Adam with his eyes as he sits down in the chair next to him.

They sit in silence for a long stretch of time, the only sounds coming from the creaking of the chairs as they slowly rock back and forth, the crickets chirping out in the yard. It could almost pass for peaceful, if not for the underlying tension that hasn’t quite faded away. Blake resists for as long as possible, until he can’t fight it anymore, and then he’s looking over, watching Adam’s profile as he stares out at some distant point in the dark, keeps his eyes on him until Adam looks back.

“What?”

“You’ve got a lotta nerve, you know that?”

Adam blinks, confusion clearly written on his face. “I’m sorry? I said I’d go back inside—”

“Not that,” Blake says, pushing himself up to stand. “Showin’ up here in the first place. What did you think I would do, huh? Did you think I’d take one look at you and fall at your feet, thank you for decidin’ I was worth coming back to?”

“No, Blake, jesus. I never thought that, I would never—”

“Because let me tell you, I don’t need you here. I don’t need you to show up out of the fucking blue tellin’ me I was right for me to know that. Because I can stand here right now and tell you _no shit_ , Adam.”

Adam looks floored to say the least, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before he finally gets anything out. “Okay. I get it. You’re angry.”

“You’re damn right I’m angry!” Blake says, a little louder than necessary, not really meaning to yell but it feels kinda good after the fact. “Do you have any idea, whatsoever, the hell you put me through?” 

He sees how Adam flinches back just slightly, how he’s slow and careful to rise from his seat. “I’m sorry, Blake. The last thing I wanted to do was piss you off or hurt you more by coming here. Let me just…” he says, making his way toward the door. “I’ll get dressed and go.”

“How is it always _so easy_ for you to walk away from me?” Blake all but shouts, and Adam is quick to fire back this time.

“I’m not! I don’t want to!” he says and he’s stepping closer, reaching out with both hands even though Blake is ducking out of his reach. Adam isn’t having it though, and he gets his hands on Blake’s face, gives Blake no other choice but to look right back at him. “This is me running _to you_.”

Blake shrugs out of Adam’s reach, pushes his hands away. He feels like he’s about three seconds away from punching Adam right in the face, thinks it might feel pretty damn good, before he’s grabbing onto him instead, reeling him back in and right into a kiss.

 

*** 

 

They move like a wrecking ball through the house from the front door to the bedroom, slamming into this wall and that one, running into furniture but unable to care about any damage done. 

There’s no sense of control. Right now, there’s no such thing. Adam gets the wind knocked out of him when they hit the first wall, but he doesn’t dare make Blake stop, kisses him through the burning in his lungs and the stars dancing behind his eyelids. 

There’s nothing gentle or tender about what they’re doing. No loving caresses or soft, sweet kisses. These kisses are desperate and biting, their touches tight, clinging, hard enough to bruise. 

This is anger and loss and longing and _I’ve missed you so fucking much_ and making up for lost time.

When Adam says, “anything you want, Blake, anything you need,” and Blake kisses him again, he swallows down a sound that is so heartbreakingly like a sob, it spurs them on even more, adds even more fuel to the raging fire.

 

*** 

 

“You look…”

“What? Like shit?”

“Tan. I was gonna say tan, there,” Adam says, and he’s pressing a small smile into the pillow he’s hugging. “Pretty good, too. Why haven’t you always been rocking the homemade sleeveless shirts?”

Blake rolls his eyes, bends his arm back behind his head. “It gets hot workin’ outside.”

“Oh, I bet it does. Do you ever just rip it off? Get so hot you’re pouring a bottle of water over your head all sexy farmer-esque? That’s why all your tan lines are gone, right?”

“Shut up, Adam,” Blake says as he swats at him with one of the extra pillows, leaves it lying there covering Adam’s face. Adam’s laugh is muffled by the pillow, and Blake can’t really stop the slight grin that spreads across his face as he shakes his head up at the ceiling.

 

*** 

 

“This doesn’t automatically fix everything, you know,” Blake says, his hands slipping on the sweat slick skin of Adam’s thighs.

“Huh? I kno- _ow_ ,” Adam gasps, Blake’s cock hitting him just right, this rhythm they have going is a little too good, his eyes rolling back his head. “ _Fuck_ , do we have to talk about this now?”

Blake gets his hands hooked up over Adam’s shoulders, thrusts up just as Adam is rocking back against him and presses in impossibly deep. “No,” he bites out. “Was just sayin’.”

Adam leans over his chest, captures Blake’s lips in a filthy kiss, his hips moving in a slow, steady grind. “Just say… _later_ ,” he pants against Blake’s mouth.

“ _Fine_ ,” Blake says before he tips Adam’s world upside down, flipping him over onto his back, effectively driving out any other smart remark Adam could possibly shoot back with the sharp, hard thrust of his hips. 

 

*** 

 

Blake is alone when he wakes up. He’s a little surprised; the number of times that Adam had woken up before him… _before_ , he could count on one hand. He pulls on his pajama bottoms, makes a quick stop in the bathroom before he’s off to find where Adam disappeared to. 

It’s easy to find, once he heads down the hall. All he has to do is follow the sound of the music.

The door to the music room is open about half way, light streaming in enough that Blake can see the dust dancing in the air. Adam is sitting in the middle, guitar draped over his lap, strumming away. Blake’s not sure of the song, but he stands there in the doorway, watches and listens. 

“See something you like?” Adam asks without looking up.

“Maybe. That is a mighty fine guitar.”

Adam snorts softly, shakes his head a little. “You’re such a dick.”

“You like it,” Blake says as he steps into the room.

“Mmm,” Adam hums, his mouth quirking up into a small, half smile. “So you wanna talk about it?”

Blake scrubs a hand over his face, rubs at his eyes as he takes a seat on the small sofa across from him. He does want to talk about it, they _need_ to talk about things, but he’s suddenly finding himself at a loss, now. Maybe it’s the fact that his head is still a little foggy from sleep or he still hasn’t fully processed the events of the last couple of days, but he doesn’t really know where to begin.

So he says the first thing that pops into his head.

“I guess I’m just wonderin’… how long you’re plannin’ on hanging around.”

“How long do you want me to hang around?” Adam asks, carefully setting the guitar aside. When Blake just looks back at him for a few moments instead of answering, he continues. “Look, here’s how I see it. I have a lot of time on my hands all of a sudden. A big open space of nothing to do on my schedule. I’d like to fill it with spending time with the guy I used to be able to call my best friend. I’d love to be able to call him that again.”

Blake licks his lips, nods his head just a little. He has to admit he likes the sound of that, of keeping Adam around for a while. For as long as possible. “Alright.”

“I’ll go as soon as you want me to, though, all you have to do is say the word.”

“I don’t want you to go anywhere.”

 

*** 

 

A week later, when Blake steps out onto the porch and finds Adam out in the front yard with the dogs, it’s almost startling, the new kind of ache he feels in his chest. Because it’s a good ache this time, for the first time in a long, long time. He can’t even remember the last time he’s felt something like this, something this _good_ , and as he watches Adam throw another ball for Cash to chase, then look down to see Betty not budge from her spot at his feet, that feeling grows just a little bit more.

Because this? It would be so damn easy to get used to this. 

There’s Adam in nothing but cut-off camo shorts and kissed by the sun, the dogs, music filling up the house again. It’s as close to perfect as he could ever expect to get again, could ever hope or ask for, and every morning he wakes up and expects it to all be a dream. 

But Adam is still here.

Blake is used to it all already, if he’s perfectly honest.

(He refuses to think about what will happen when Adam has to go back to LA. That’s somewhere down the road, and he can’t look past today, what’s happening in the here and now. This is all that matters.)

He can hear Adam talking to Betty, and she stares up at him with her head cocked to the side, her tail wagging against the grass. “Don’t be cute,” he hears Adam say, and he can’t help but laugh. Adam looks up at him then, an exasperated look on his face, hands resting on his hips.

“Your dog is lazy!”

“Nah,” Blake says, stepping down into the yard. “You just don’t know how to get her goin’.”

“Oh really? And how’s that?”

Blake walks around to the side of the house, unwinds a good portion of the hosepipe and pulls it out. He’s grinning as he walks toward them, one hand on the nozzle. 

“Don’t even think about it, cowboy,” Adam says as he takes a few steps backward, fear in his eyes.

Betty is already up on her feet, tail wagging at full speed, her eyes trained on the end of the nozzle just waiting to see where Blake is going to aim it. 

“Sure you don’t need to cool down a little bit? I’d hate for you to get overheated out here, sun beatin’ down on you the way it is.” 

“I’m positive. We’ve already had the discussion about why you need to put in a pool. Do you want to have that conversation again? Do you remember how tedious you thought it was?”

Blake rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. Betty is getting impatient, though, and she lets out a couple of barks. Giving the handle of the sprayer a quick pull, it shoots out one short spray of water, and Betty pounces the spot on the ground where it hits right by Adam’s feet.

“Hey!” he yelps and jumps away, but it’s in vain. Going up against Blake, he has to know he’s screwed, and the next shot of water hits him at the knees, only cut off when Betty gets her face in front of the spray. “ _Seriously_?!”

Blake just looks at him for a second. Quirks an eyebrow like he might be thinking about it. Shrugs a shoulder because why the fuck shouldn’t he give Adam a little bit of hell?

The chase is on after that - Blake running after Adam, Betty chasing the water, Cash abandoning his tennis balls to run after all three of them because this game suddenly looks like a lot more fun. 

 

*** 

 

He thinks it should feel a little weird coming back into this room, but it doesn’t. A little unfamiliar, maybe, like he needs to relearn how things feel, scrape off some rust, even though it technically hasn’t been _that_ long.

It feels good to pick up his guitar, to strum a couple of chords, to feel the music at his fingertips again. It’s all there, in his heart and in his mind and he feels like he’s overflowing with it, thoughts and feelings and ideas that he needs to get out.

It’s a rare thing for Blake to take pen to paper and actually write; most of the time, he scans his music collections and builds playlists to fit his moods, but this is different. It’s too personal this time. This time it has to be his.

He sits down and scribbles, scratches out and writes some more, strums along on the guitar and taps his foot. He loses track of time, has no idea how long he’s been at it when he looks up to see Adam leaning against the doorframe watching him, and he realizes he’s been humming to himself, too. 

“Looks a little intense,” Adam says but doesn’t invite himself in. Not yet.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, not really. I don’t know. I’m just not good at this.”

“Do you want some help? A second opinion? Or do you want me to fuck off?”

“I…” Blake pauses, stops to think about that for a moment. Adam really is one of Blake’s favorite songwriters, even if he does have a reason to be biased. To have Adam help him with something like this, where Blake is basically just throwing up his feelings all over the page… Maybe he should think of it as therapy. “Yeah. Help might be kinda nice.”

With a smile and a nod, Adam makes his way into the room, takes a seat next to Blake on the small sofa. Blake slides over his notebook with its many scribbles and scratches, thinks it’s probably not going to make a whole lot of sense to anyone but him.

“It’s pretty crap.”

Adam is quiet for a few long moments as he looks over the page, squints, tilts his head a little. Blake mutters, “good lord,” to himself and scrubs a hand over his face because it’s not that bad, jesus christ. But then Adam is grinning a little and his nose is scrunched up in that way that drives Blake a sort of crazy, and it’s all Blake can do to keep himself from snatching the notebook back.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you writing a song about me?”

“What? No. Shut up.” 

Even though, yes, that’s pretty much what he’s been sitting in here trying to do.

“It’s not bad, what you have so far,” Adam says, and he’s up out of his seat long enough to grab the other guitar. Then he’s back sitting next to Blake again, looking over at him with soft eyes. “My next question is this: do you want to write a song about us?”

Blake licks his lips, swallows hard. His heart is suddenly pounding in his chest and he has no idea why. “Yes,” is his answer, and his eyes are on Adam’s mouth when it spreads into a slow grin.

“Then let’s do it.”

Blake’s gaze shifts until he’s looking Adam in the eye. They have always been able to say so much with a simple look, feelings written all over their faces, and that hasn’t changed. They share a nod and get to work, putting the pieces of their relationship back together in a song.


End file.
